


you can have my seat (i'm stickin' 'round here for awhile)

by MoragMacPherson



Series: 23 ½ Weeks [2]
Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: M/M, POV Eddie Brock, but wants to sleep with him anyway, drake displays patience and understanding despite being a terrible human being, eddie is a genuine human disaster, now with actual slash, who knows entirely too much about eddie's spending and porn habits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 22:59:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16251527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoragMacPherson/pseuds/MoragMacPherson
Summary: "I don't believe any significant other in your life is ever going to change you from being," and Drake gestures at Eddie "well, like this."





	you can have my seat (i'm stickin' 'round here for awhile)

**Author's Note:**

> Promised that there'd be more, and here it is. Thanks again to eisoj5 for her beta work and encouragement, and thank you to everyone who left feedback on the last part, this wouldn't have happened as quickly without you.

Eddie wants to hurl his phone across the room after what feels like the hundredth fucking rejection he's heard today— but he really can't afford a new phone if he smashes this one. Even if Drake would likely as not turn up with a new one for him. 

That's a bastard of a thought. He's already taking enough charity off of that asshole, and if he could get anything _other_ than a rejection, he'd be out of this apartment in a goddamn heartbeat. 

But it's been three weeks and rejections seem to be the only thing he can get right these days. He's just… gotta keep trying. Can't start drinking this early, no matter how much he wants to, it's only a little past noon— 

— or maybe a couple hours past noon and it's fucking Tuesday, so Eddie scrambles to his feet, clearing out the beer and liquor bottles and cleaning the fridge. _Not gonna get scolded like a child this time_ — 

And if that isn't the biggest bastard thought of them all, Eddie doesn't know what is. 

But all the same, the apartment's looking nearly presentable when Drake saunters in. "It's demeaning, you having the key," Eddie grits out, pretending not to look up when the door opens. He knows what he'll see: Drake, fucking smirking at him and carrying a couple sacks of groceries like he's a normal human fucking person. Eddie's spied on him before he comes in and seen the assistant who actually hands the groceries off to Drake right when his car drops him off, and Drake probably knows he's been caught out. But he keeps up the illusion all the same, because that's how Drake fucking works. It's enough to drive a man insane. 

"Well, it is technically my apartment, why wouldn't I have a key? You're in a mood— been working the phones again?" Drake sets the groceries on the counter and surveys the apartment, eyes landing on the backsplash by the stove and _shit_ , Eddie knew he'd forgotten something— it's covered in bacon grease and flecks of stray pancake batter. "Certainly haven't been cleaning, and I don't really want to think about what you've been eating, do I?" 

Eddie's lip curls as he sets his laptop aside and gets to his feet. "Maybe I don't have a team of cleaners coming in to take care of my every mess. I just wanted some fucking breakfast yesterday, that's all. Thought you'd be applauding me making something other than tater tots," he says, grabbing the bag of them that Drake's dangling in front of him like a piece of roadkill. He throws that in the freezer and helps Drake stow the rest of the groceries— and it's a little creepy, the way that Drake's groceries are actually pretty close to what he'd buy himself, given the cash and the inclination to leave the house. He's pretty sure that Drake's seen his detailed credit history and most of his web browsing habits, somehow. 

Eddie works _very_ hard at not thinking about how that means Drake knows entirely too much about his porn viewing habits. 

But it's tough not to, sometimes, especially when the smile Drake's directing towards him can best be described as 'indulgent'. "Of course, you're right. I'm all for you getting back on your legs financially and starting to take care of yourself again, and I shouldn't mock you for doing that. My apologies," he says, spreading his hands and it's so damn tempting to think that he's actually sincere— Drake's always good at putting on a show. "If it bothers me so much, I could always hire a housekeeper to come in here a couple of times a week," he offers breezily, as if that's a completely reasonable thing. 

Eddie can't help but flinch. "No, no— that's— I like my privacy, I can, y'know, keep things hygienic…" he says, letting his words trail off as he finishes putting away the food that Drake's bought for him into Drake's cabinets. It's not like he has any real privacy from Drake here, anyway. From the slightly amused quirk of Drake's lips, he can tell that Drake is thinking much the same thing, but he does have his own _dignity_ , even if he doesn't really have much anything else at the moment. 

Drake's standing on the other side of the room now, leaning up against the island which apparently is sufficiently clean for him, face looking a bit more neutral. "Well, if that's how you feel, then I'll respect your wishes." His eyebrows knit together. "Why are you scowling?" 

Eddie sighs, gets a glass of water and chugs it down in an effort to get his courage back up, because this question's been gnawing at him, even though he's a little terrified of winding back on the street. "Why are you here? I mean— I still don't get it. You didn't— what the hell is really going on here? I'm sick of trying to guess. You say— say that you're fine with me trying to get new jobs, so apparently you don't mind me sticking to reporting— but that's why you— why you got me fired in the first place. And then— " and Eddie gestures around at the room, "then you did all this. When's the next shoe gonna drop?" He’s horribly uncomfortable in his skin and even more uncomfortable from the way that Drake's looking at him. "And don't— don't say the goodness of your heart, because I'm pretty sure from my research you don't have one." 

It's Drake's turn to sigh, briefly toying with the cuffs of his jacket, which is the most visible reaction he's had to the entire speech. The pause is playing complete hell on Eddie's nerves. "The heartless bit was a little harsh, don't you think?" 

Eddie blinks and takes the last sip of his water. "That's what we call a 'non-denial denial,' Drake," he says, jutting his jaw out just a little. 

It actually earns a smile from Drake, one that might even be genuine. "All right then. You want the cards on the table, is that it?" says Drake, standing up a bit straighter. 

"Yeah, if you— it's for my own peace of mind," says Eddie, folding his arms together, breath catching in his throat— he hadn't really thought he'd get to Drake this quickly. 

Drake looks him straight in the eyes. "I think you're attractive, and I'd like to start sleeping with you. On a trial basis," he amends, as if that's a normal fucking human thing to say— but then, whatever he is, Eddie has to admit that Drake isn't a normal fucking human. 

But this is— Eddie shakes his head and wags his finger, chuckling. "You told me— right off the bat— you said that this wasn't a _Pretty Woman_ -thing— but it's a good—" 

Drake cuts him off. "It's not a _Pretty Woman_ -thing, as you insist on calling it. Richard Gere wanted to elevate Julia Roberts to his social class, improve her standing, change her life, eventually fall in love with her. I don't have any real interest in doing any of that with you," says Drake. 

That's a bit of a slap in the face— and holy fuck, Drake might actually be _serious_. "I'm fine with you continuing to eat frozen dinners and playing the intrepid reporter, while your best friend in the world is the lady behind the counter at the convenience store. I don't believe any significant other in your life is ever going to change you from being," and Drake gestures at him, "well, like this. I'd just like to fuck you while you're doing it. It's not a complicated equation." 

Eddie takes a deep breath, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. "Isn't that prostitution?" 

Drake chuckles again. "Worried about turning tricks still, Eddie? No, not prostitution. I've been paying for your housing and groceries for nearly a month now without sleeping with you, and I'll still pay for them if you say no. They're a truly negligible expense for me, so there's nothing being exchanged. It's simply an arrangement and one that I'm interested in. For now," he adds with a sniff. "The question is, are you?" 

Eddie is… confused— he's pretty sure he's never seen Carlton Drake being this honest in any footage, even paparazzi footage. But the offer is… _bizarre_ , and Eddie starts and fails to complete words several times before he finally replies, "You don't think that's kind of a cold, calculating bastard thing to say?" 

Drake tilts his head. "A few minutes ago you were calling me heartless. Don't you like being right for once in your life?" Eddie doesn't have any real reply to that but to _stare_ at Drake, who seems to realize that he's miscalculated and leans back against the refrigerator as he tries a different tactic. "And I do promise: I am _ace_ in the sack, but we could always just try it out this afternoon, so that you know for yourself before you make a hard and fast decision," he offers. 

Eddie lets out another disbelieving laugh. "We could try it this afternoon?" he repeats mockingly, but Drake simply nods in reply. 

"We could try it this— like now?" he says again, hating the way that his voice cracks, because up until now it's been a bit of a joke, but now Drake looks like he might— 

Well, Drake doesn't seem the clothes-ripping type, but he's looking at Eddie like he might just bend him over the island in the moment as some kind of weird audition... 

… and now that it seems like a real possibility, Eddie's body, which hasn't had much company other than his own right hand in the past six weeks, suddenly has _opinions_ about this arrangement. He's pretty sure he's not blushing and he hasn't done anything ridiculous like get hard at this... proposition, but he does feel the need to tug at his collar, because it inexplicably seems at least ten degrees warmer. 

Drake smiles again, and takes the moment to start pulling off his own jacket, pressing his advantage. "Yes, Eddie, like now," he says simply, hesitating after he gets one sleeve off. "Unless you don't even want to try," he adds, licking his lips— and his lips are really very pink and attractive, and he's phrased it like a dare. He has to _know_ he phrased it like a dare, and fucking hell, that shouldn't be _working_. 

Eddie squints his eyes and shakes his head, unable to maintain eye contact. "Yeah— fuck, all right, let's give this a go, trial fucking basis," he says. 

Somehow the whole 'being completely deadly honest' thing is working for him, and maybe one day people will believe them when he tells them about the afternoon Carlton Drake propositioned him and it'll be fucking bestselling memoir material. But also because now he's letting himself think about him that way, Carlton Drake is Eddie's type— and Drake knows about the porn, so he probably already knows that, the bastard. 

Indeed, Drake doesn't look at all surprised that he's said yes— pleased, he looks actually fucking pleased, little crinkles around his eyes as he smiles while removing his jacket the rest of the way and folding it over his arm. "Let's take this to the bedroom, then?" 

Eddie has a sudden sinking feeling in his chest— he's cleaned up the main living area in anticipation, but he's not sure how interested Drake's going to be when he sees the laundry pile on the bed. "Uh— I might— might not be as, uh, clean in there as it is out here," he admits, stepping into Drake's way before he can get much further. Drake's eyelashes are really long, even as he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Just— one second, all right?" 

Drake's brown eyes look a bit dangerous staring back at him. "One minute. Do your best," he allows, and Eddie grins and impulsively presses a kiss to his cheek before he runs off, which at least makes Drake look a little surprised for once. 

It's not a thorough job, but it's a quick one— grabbing all the clothes and shoving them in the closet, slamming the door shut and wincing because Drake probably knows exactly what he's just done. 

— fuck, he's gonna sleep with Carlton Drake, is he actually excited about this? 

Eddie realizes that he might be, doing a quick sweep along the sheets to make sure there aren't any crumbs on it, and pulling them up a bit so the bed looks almost made. Hopefully Drake will be too focused on the sex to pay too much attention to the line of empty beer bottles on the dresser— shit, this is fucking ridiculous, but he's said yes, and it must have been a minute because there's a soft rap on the doorjamb and then Drake's standing in his bedroom. 

"I can— I can make sure it's clean again, after," says Eddie, feeling a bit awkward— he's not assuming there's going to be a repeat or anything, but Drake's got this whole cleanliness thing and if he doesn't, Eddie's going to wind up with a housekeeper whether he likes it or not. 

"Please do," says Drake lightly, pulling a couple of things out of his pocket— a condom and a packet of lube. Of course he doesn't carry his own wallet or keys, he has people to do his shopping and driving for him— the lack of a cell phone seems curious, but maybe he's paranoid— and of course he's fucking _prepared_. He sets them on the nightstand and seems to pause for a moment. 

Eddie shifts nervously on his feet, wiping his palms off on his jeans as he watches him. "If you— you're having second thoughts then I—" He doesn't get to finish his sentence before Drake's turned, taken the two steps to get into his space and pulled him into a kiss. 

It's… a good kiss, if a little demanding, really what Eddie should have been expecting if he'd really thought it was ever going to actually happen. When he feels Drake's tongue sliding across his lips he obliges and opens them, and then it becomes a _very_ good kiss. 

Eddie's a little bit breathless when it breaks. "So, kissing's part of it then," he murmurs, a slightly giddy grin curling across his face. 

Drake simply shakes his head and sighs, pushing Eddie back down onto the bed. "Yes, Eddie: this isn't _Pretty Woman_ and kissing's part of the deal. And for the love of god, please, take your socks off," he adds as he starts shedding the rest of his clothes. Once they’re both naked, he says, "You have a Netflix subscription, could you please also watch another movie sometime?" 

—and fuck, all of that gym time and those healthy eating habits seem to be working for Drake, because he's hiding a very nice body underneath all those fleeces and jackets. 

Eddie grins, not wanting Drake to see quite how much he appreciates all the work. "Well, only if it's part of the deal," he says, and is _thrilled_ when Drake rolls his eyes and pounces on him. 

Drake's full attention is kind of overwhelming— he seems very interested in teasing Eddie's tongue into responding, and his hands are clever and seem to be almost everywhere. Eddie's unashamed of his moan when Drake grinds their cocks together just so, at the same time as he squeezes his ass with both hands, pulling the cheeks apart. 

"Know what you fucking want, don't you?" he murmurs when the kiss breaks for a moment and Drake does it again. 

Drake shakes his head, sliding down Eddie's body. "Yes, that's the whole point, glad you've caught up," he mutters. 

Eddie's perversely pleased that he's getting to see Drake almost lose his patience, so much so that he's surprised when Drake's lips wrap around his cock. Then again, Drake seems to want him to want this to happen again, so maybe Eddie shouldn't be so surprised. 

"Fuck," he whispers, torn between watching— Drake's lips are _obscene_ like this— and needing to throw his head back because it turns out Drake's good at this too. But he does catch the way that Drake glares at him through his lashes while taking Eddie's cock further down his throat— all right, he'll shut up for a minute, if only so that Drake doesn't stop. 

Except Drake does stop after a minute or so, and Eddie lets out a whine of loss. "Can't have your cake and eat it too," chides Drake, wiping his mouth off as he reaches for the condom and lube. 

Eddie lets his head fall back against the pillow. "Yeah, all right, good point," he says, turning over onto his stomach when Drake prods him to and getting on his knees. 

This is happening. 

Drake just sucked on his cock and he'd been very clear about wanting to fuck him. It just still feels a little unreal, like Drake's checking boxes on some kind of 'foreplay' list. 

But the slick finger pushing inside of him feels all too real, and he hisses at the intrusion— he'd been loyal to Anne for ages and it's been some time, but as Drake's fingers methodically scissor and stretch inside of him, he manages to relax, pushing back against it. 

"Bit like riding a bicycle," he adds when the fingers pull away, turning his head to flash Drake a grin and make sure he's rolling the condom on— shit, that's a tad bigger than his fingers— 

Drake lets out another throaty chuckle. "No, Eddie: it's a bit like riding you," he purrs before thrusting inside of him, slow and steady even as Eddie lets out a harsh cry— fuck, that feels kind of awesome. So far, Drake hasn't been lying about that 'ace in the sack' thing. 

Drake gives him a moment to adjust, and Eddie needs it. "No smart remarks now, hmm?" whispers Drake as he nuzzles at Eddie's neck, all the warning Eddie gets before Drake pulls out and starts fucking him in earnest. 

It's a _hell_ of a ride— the whole billionaire philanthropist image thing clearly isn't compensating for Drake's abilities here. Drake's fucking him so hard he can almost _taste_ his cock, and it's all Eddie can do to hold on to the headboard and push back to meet his thrusts. 

He's kind of sold on this maybe happening again, and now he's gotta make sure that Drake wants that. So he clenches around him deliberately— and it's gratifying as hell, to hear Drake groan like that before somehow he starts thrusting harder. Eddie's not quite sure why Drake's pushing down on his spine until his cock starts finding his prostate over and over, and if the neighbors complain about hearing Eddie's screams, well, Drake can just buy out the whole damn building. 

Just when Eddie's not sure he can take much more, he feels Drake's hand grasping his cock harshly, and after all of this he only needs a couple of tugs before he's crying out wordlessly, sparks flying into his vision as he comes. He's only dimly aware of Drake's grunts and almost strangled cry as he makes it to the end, still in a happy orgasmic daze. 

He just got properly fucked by Carlton Drake. It's a hell of a lot better than getting fucked by him any other way. 

Drake's slumped against the mattress, catching his breath still when Eddie finally manages to drag his face out of the pillow. 

"So, upon further reflection, I've decided to take you up on your deal," pants out Eddie, not daring to reach for Drake now. Somehow that feels too intimate, which is kind of ridiculous, but so is everything else about this. 

Drake flops over, looking somewhat younger and more attractive with his hair mussed and face unguarded, his smile again genuine, though that's probably just the orgasm doing the driving. "Oh? Good. I'm still— still interested too," he says with an almost giddy chuckle, scrubbing at his face with his hand before rolling out of the bed. "I've got to— I'll help you get cleaned up in a second." He gets to his feet, heading for the bathroom. He seems to have a checklist for aftercare as well, but Eddie can't complain about him being thorough in that too, or for looking a bit smug throughout. 

The reminder to change the sheets once he leaves stings a little, but then, Eddie probably deserves that. "I was going to!" Eddie protests, but now Drake's almost all the way dressed again and Eddie's in nothing but a sheet. Drake arches a single eyebrow at him as Eddie sits up, feeling a bit insecure again now that Drake's slipped back into his calmer and more-rational-than-thou attitude. "So— you'll be back on Thursday, then?" he asks, because that's when Drake's always shown up before. 

Drake casts one last disapproving look at the beer bottles lined up on the dresser but manages a smile as he nods. "I'll be back on Thursday. Thanks for giving me a shot, Eddie," he says, turning to leave. 

Eddie doesn't chase after him. After all, it's not going to be that kind of a thing. He's not sure what kind of a thing it's going to be, but it's not— not like that. Once he hears the front door shut, he finally slides out of bed— where was he before Drake showed up? 

Oh, right: he could use a fucking drink. 

No need to break with routine.


End file.
